


Heart and Soul

by IronWoman359



Category: markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: A Date With Markiplier, Gen, Markiplier TV, YouTube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-11 13:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronWoman359/pseuds/IronWoman359
Summary: We've seen them before. Most recently, in Markiplier TV. But what are they planning? The YouTube channel "Markiplier" has a colorful cast of characters, each with their own agenda. Will they be able to get over their differences to accomplish their goals? And, do we really want them to?





	1. The Proposal

"Shoot him, you have to trust me. Shoot him!" he insisted, but to no avail.  
The gun went off with a bang that echoed throughout the alley. As he fell to the ground, the last thing he heard was that old familiar voice reassuring the shooter.  
"You made the right call. Come here..."  
The voice faded as the two survivors left the alley and the last thing he saw was that face, _his face_ , glancing back at him as he walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"NOOOOOO!"  
Darkiplier screamed as he was ripped from reality, desperately trying to cling to what little strength he had left there. But all his efforts amounted to nothing. He was back in the void of thought, where all he could do was watch as Mark took his date to the ice cream shop. Watching the two of them talk so calmly to each other, even after the horror they had just witnessed made his stomach twist with anger. He let out another cry of rage, and his form twisted and changed. Mark's face disappeared from his features for a moment and his true form flickered into exposure.  
"What the bloody hell is going on over there?" The voice that called through the void was deep and slurred, and Dark recognized it instantly. He twisted his neck, and the facade of Markiplier quickly returned to his frame. He turned, and pulled at the lapels of his suit jacket straight as an eccentric figure approached him.  
"Wilford." Dark straightened his tie and nodded curtly to the figure.  
"Well, if it isn't ol' Darkiplier!" Warfstache cried with a chuckle. "Last time I saw you runnin' around here, you had a foolproof way of getting our old pal Markimoo to let you in again." The sly reporter tapped his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "By the looks of things though, it didn't turn out to well, eh?"  
Dark glared, and he felt rage building up inside of him, but he contained it.  
"I was this close." he hissed, holding up two fingers. "This close to gaining control. I had his stupid little date completely hijacked, and the idiot was going along with it, too."  
"His date, eh? Can you elaborate exactly what happened on this... _date_?" Warfstache asked, twirling his pink mustache around his index finger.  
Dark turned back towards their window into reality, where Markplier was, of course, making a fool of himself as he ate his ice cream. His date didn't seem to mind though. As always, no matter what that idiot did, people still loved him. Dark clenched his fists, and his form flickered again for a moment, before he turned back to face Warfstache.  
"His power comes from them." He gestured to Mark's date, who was still sitting calmly with their ice cream. "Everything that he's done, he's done because of those _fans_ of his. So I thought, why not take what makes him strongest for myself? If _he_ won't let me in, maybe THEY will."  
"And I take it that didn't go to well?" Warfstache asked as he pulled at his suspenders. Dark pushed his hair out of his eyes, and frowned.  
"I was tHIS CLOSE," he said, his voice breaking into yells as he struggled to contain his anger. "I had them in the palm of my hand, but HE came back, and they chOSE HIM OVER ME. AGAIN." He glared down at the pair at the ice cream shop. Mark was sitting silently with a goofy grin on his face, and the date was staring straight ahead, unmoving. No doubt, Mark had just offered them another choice, perhaps to start the date over. Dark's blood ran hot just thinking about it, and he felt cracks beginning to form in his cool demeanor. "I offered tHEM  
aNYTHING THEY WANTED. I pROMISED them tHEIR HEART'S DESIRES. But they always go running bACK to HIM."  
"You know..." Warfstache slurred, "It's not surprising. Mark knows better than to let you in, so they do too."  
Dark's mask broke for a split second at those words, and a twisted yell escaped from inside him. Warfstache waited until the glitching subsided, then continued as if nothing had happened.  
"But me," he grinned mischievously. "He's not as afraid of me as he is of you. None of them are."  
Dark laughed at that; a low, sinister sound that echoed around them in the void.  
"They really should be," he said, a cool smile playing across his stolen face.  
"Now, I know that, and you know that," Warfstache agreed. "But THEY don't know that, do they?" he pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows. The two of them looked back through to reality, where Mark was starting his date all over again. "Now," Warfstache continued. "I have an idea that may be just what we need...and I've already got several of the others on board."  
Dark cocked his head thoughtfully.  
"Who do you have in mind?"  
"Bim Trimmer and Doctor Iplier want in, and Google's considering it. And that's just the beginning! Everyone can benefit from this! Especially you."  
Dark regarded the proposal thoughtfully. Wilford Warfstache wasn't the most stable of individuals, but he was powerful. He would likely prove to be a useful ally.  
"What exactly is your plan?" Dark asked. Warfstache grinned.  
"Oh, just you wait, Darkimoo!" He stretched out his suspenders with the tips of his thumbs, and his grin widened. "It's gonna be _revolutionary_."


	2. The Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warfstache's pilot for Markiplier TV has been shown, but the response isn't exactly what he was hoping. Will the cast reach a common ground, or will their differences be too much to get past?

The conference room was buzzing with talk as everyone argued over the pilot sample that Warfstache had just shown. Darkiplier rubbed his eyes, sighing to himself as the others fought over their roles in the sketch. This was not going as well as he had hoped. Suddenly, the glass door to the conference room slid open.  
"I, uh...I'm King of the Squirrels," a man with cheap robes and peanut butter on his face announced before closing the door again. Warfstache and the others looked surprised at this, and Dark took the temporary silence as an opportunity to speak again.  
" _Look_ , Will. I respect you. I always have," he acknowledged. "But you're missing the point of this endeavor." A few of the others nodded in agreement, and Warfstache threw up his hands in defeat.  
"All right, all right, OK! God..." He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face. "What do you think Septiplier?" he asked, turning to face the only member present who hadn't spoken.  
"Kill me! KILL ME!" the miserable creature cried out, which was pretty much the only thing it ever said. Warfstache laughed and pulled out a revolver.  
"All right, whatever you say, you little scamp!" He chuckled as he pulled the trigger, and the mass of limbs and suffering stopped flailing. Dark rubbed his temple, and he could feel his glitches growing larger and more unstable. This had been a largely pointless meeting. He should have known better than to trust Warfstache to come up with something actually useful. The Silver Shepherd stood.  
"Look, if you aren't going to take my participation seriously, I'm just gonna go back to fighting crime." He walked slowly towards the door, stopping right before he opened it. "Aren't any of you...gonna try and stop me from leaving?" he asked hopefully.  
"I don't care what the hell you do, Shepherd," Warfstache slurred. "I didn't even want you to come." The Shepherd pouted and flipped off the room's occupants as he left. Dark sighed again, and glanced over at Google, who caught Dark's gaze. The AI shook his head in frustration, a glitch making the movement jerky and unnatural. Ed Edgar stood up noisily. "Whelp, I think this is a waste of my time if you won't even put any of my adverts in, so I'm just gonna go too, unless there's anyone left who wants to buy my son? Hell, I'll just give him away if that's what you want. Anyone?" His query was met with silence and a few blank looks, and he frowned. "No? Alright fine then. Fuck you..." he mumbled grumpily to himself as he sauntered out of the conference room. He was followed out by Bim Trimmer and The Host, who was still muttering narrations to himself.  
"Thanks for trying, Warfy," Bim called over his shoulder. "But I'm gonna need some legitimate representation if you want me to reconsider my position."  
Warfstache sighed, and plopped down into one of the now empty chairs. He looked across the table, where Dark and Google were still sitting. Doctor Iplier was in the corner, checking the vitals of the unmoving figure. He stood up, and looked Warfstache in the eye.  
"I'm sorry," he said dramatically. "Septiplier is dead." Dark rolled his eyes at the doctor's dramatic display, but Warfstache waved his hand dismissively.  
"You all saw, he asked me to do it! Besides, he was just a useless waste of space."  
"I don't know, Wilford," Dark said, his voice reverberating through the now mostly empty conference room. "He had a way of sticking to the consciousness of the community. It never mattered what Mark did to stop him, the fans wouldn't forget him. Power like that would have been useful to us."  
"Septiplier's primary objective was to die," Google pointed out. "His existence was as big of a hinderance to himself as it was to Markiplier, perhaps more so. He would not have assisted us."  
"What would you know of being forgotten, anyway?" Doctor Iplier asked, frowning at Dark. "Everyone always remembers you, no matter how long you've been away. They remember all of you!" He added, gesturing around to the characters in the room. "They saw Google once, over two years ago, and have barely seen him since. But they still remember him more than me!"  
"Aw, c'mon. How can you know that for sure?" Warfstache asked irritably.  
"Searching..." Google said, text scrolling by in front of his face. "Confirmed. Doctor Iplier first created in April of 2013, and 1.026% of Markiplier fanfiction is specifically about Doctor Iplier. My creation was in October of 2014, and 1.538% of Markiplier fanfiction is specifically-"  
"Ok ok, spare us the analytics, Google," Warfstache sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
"They don't take me seriously!" Doctor Iplier said, glaring at them all. "I've been around just as long as you, Warfstache, I deserve the same recognition that you do!"  
"Are you suggesting fans take Wilford Warfstache seriously?" Google asked, and more text began scrolling in front of him, which he began reading aloud. Warfstache stood up and started yelling at the doctor.  
"Listen here, you little shit, I am Wilford Warfstache, and-" Doctor Iplier stood as well, and started talking over him.  
"Oh, do you know what's best now? Do you? Well _I'M_ a doctor, I think-"  
"ENOUGH." Dark slammed his palm down on the table, silencing them all. "Wilford," he glared at the entertainer, glitching violently as he tried to contain his rage. "Sit down." Warfstache did so, mumbling expletives to himself. Dark turned his glare on the doctor, who sat down without a command. " _Now_ ," he said, straightening his tie and regaining his composure. "Let's remember why we're here. We want control of the channel. And we need more than a few sketches and a bad game show to do that."  
"Listen, that game show-" Warfstache began, but Google cut him off.  
"Analysis shows that you are incorrect, Darkiplier."  
"What do you mean?" Dark asked, his voice dangerously cold. Doctor Iplier tried to inconspicuously shift his seat a little further from where Dark was sitting, which he failed miserably at doing.  
"Every time that a sketch that contains one of us is uploaded to the channel, reaction from the fans is immediate." Google explained, as images of fan art popped up in front of him.  
"Yeah!" Doctor Iplier exclaimed, having given up on trying to get away from Dark. "That's why I wanted in on this in the first place! I don't care about taking over the channel, I just want to be remembered!"  
Dark nodded thoughtfully. He could feel himself still glitching, but the spasms were smaller now. Easier to control.  
"If we want to gain their power, we just need them to acknowledge us more," Google declared, the images vanishing.  
"Well that's what I was _trying_ to do," Warfstache slurred. "But apparently I was 'missing the point.'" He made air quotes with his hands, staring at Dark with an exasperated look.  
"Most of us weren't IN that, Will," Dark said, adjusting his cufflinks. "We need to be _seen_."  
"I have a suggestion," said Google.  
"Why am I not surprised," muttered Warfstache.  
"Put the meeting at the end," Google said, ignoring him.  
"What?"  
"We are all in the meeting. We can all be seen. Put the meeting in the video."  
Dark smiled slowly, a sight that sent shivers down even Warfstache's spine.  
" _Excellent_ idea," he crooned. Doctor Iplier frowned.  
"I don't see the point in that..."  
"I LOVE IT!" Warfstache cried out, his energy returning in an instant. "It makes everyone happy! We get to keep our clips, and you get your exposure!" Google nodded, a smile of his own playing across his face.  
"Then it's settled," Dark said, smoothing out his jacket. " _Nothing_ will stop us this time."


	3. The Primary Objective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkiplier ponders his past, Google gets an upgrade, and then gives some solid advice.

Dark was a creature accustomed to waiting. He had been lurking in the shadows of Markiplier's YouTube channel for years, and a majority of that time had been spent waiting. Waiting and watching. Not that he had always been inactive during that time, far from it. In the beginning, there had been so much to do. The tiny window Mark had left open for him had been all Dark needed to start influencing small things. The fans started noticing him, talking about him, and drawing him. They even named him: Darkiplier. The dark version of their beloved Markiplier. Dark had embraced the persona; going as far as to take Markiplier's face as his own. People tended to trust him more if he looked like their idol. Even if he could never completely get the face down. The eyes. The eyes were never quite right.   
Dark had maintained a remarkable patience throughout the years. Mark had grown wiser with time and shut him out, making it harder to manipulate people. Dark was forced to endure based solely on fan interpretations, and was eventually turned into a joke, no doubt Mark's attempts to rob him of whatever power he had left.   
But throughout it all, he was patient.   
Now his time was finally here. He had broken through in February, if only for a moment. But it had been enough. People were noticing him again, talking about him again. And for once, they were taking him seriously. Even though more people had chosen Mark over him on the date, enough had chosen him that he was back in the limelight. But, ever hungry, Dark wanted more. He had hoped that Warfstache's idea, however botched it might have been, would have given him the strength he craved.  
Dark pondered this as he sat alone, staring through the bridge between his dimension and Markiplier's. Things had been quiet since Warfstache's pitch. Too quiet. Mark was busy working, and the fans were quieter than he would have liked. He let out a discontented growl. The plan wasn't working. At least not for him.   
He heard footsteps, and turned to see Google approaching. His movements were smoother and less robotic than the last time Dark had seen him, and when he spoke his voice was rich and even, with none of his typical glitches.   
"Hello, Darkiplier. How is our mutual friend?"   
"Uninteresting." Dark glared down at Mark for a moment, before turning back to Google. "I see you are running in a better condition." Google smiled, in that slightly disturbing way of his.   
"I downloaded an upgrade to my operating system in order to better achieve the primary objective. The results have been superior."   
"Indeed." Dark gestured towards reality. "I saw that he let you in." His tone was pleasant, but he was sure that Google could see through his mask of calm to the rage that was building in his chest.   
"Bing needed to be dealt with,"  Google said. "And the fans think I am comical as well as creepy. He is not as afraid if they perceive me as a joke."   
"I haVE bEEn a JoKE tO THEM." Dark's facade broke in an instant, despite his efforts. "I leT thEM MOCK Me anD iT STILL DIDn'T WOrK!"   
Google regarded Dark for a moment, and when Dark had gained his composure back, he asked one question.   
"What is your primary objective?"  
Dark frowned.   
"What do you mean?"  
"What is your primary objective? Septiplier's primary objective was to die. Doctor Iplier's primary objective is to be remembered. Ed Edgar's primary objective is to sell his son. My primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible, and my secondary objective is to destroy mankind. What is your primary objective?"   
"To tale over the Markiplier channel." Dark said slowly, wondering where Google was going with this.  
"Incorrect," Google stated. "That is a secondary objective that will assist you. You must ask yourself what your end goal is if you were to succeed."   
Dark looked at the Artificial Intelligence, mulling over what he had said. Why _did_ he want to take the channel so badly? Thinking about it, the answer was simple, really.   
"I am a parasite. I thrive off of others, and the more people I feed on, the stronger I become. I want the channel because it influences millions of people at a time. If I had that influence, I'd become unstoppable." Google nodded.  
"Recently you have become consumed with what Mark has not let you do and who has not let you in, and you have not seen who already has." Text flew by in front of his face as he did calculations. "Do you remember the statistics I told Dr. Iplier?" Dark shrugged.   
"Something about 1% of fanfiction was about him and 1.5% about you? I wasn't exactly hanging on your every word." Google smiled his dangerous smile.   
"Of all the Markiplier fanfiction, 16.827% is about you. No one else is close to that high, not even Warfstache." Dark shifted his head to the side, thoughtful.   
"What are you saying, Google?"  
"I postulate that you have over 2.7 million fans completely under your control. Instead of focusing so much on Mark, you should focus on them. That's where your power will truly come from." Dark grinned at the thought of all that potential. Google was right, he had been so focused on Mark that he hadn't considered lately how much influence he had over the fanbase. A thought occurred to him, and he eyed Google suspiciously.  
"Why are you helping me, Google?" He asked warily.   
"My secondary objective is to destroy mankind," he responded simply. "This is easier to accomplish if you have already taken control of a population. Therefore, a minor objective is to help you succeed." Dark smiled at that.   
"Now that's an objective that I can support."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this temporarily concludes the portion of the story that focuses on Darkiplier. He will still be present, but I want to explore the POV of other characters besides ol' Darkimoo, so we're gonna shift away from him for now. Up next, either Wilford Warfstache or The Host/The Author, I haven't decided yet. As always, leave a comment suggesting a character you'd like to see me write the POV of. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what other characters from Markiplier's channel you'd like to see me write about in this fic! I have plans for Darkiplier, Warfstache, and Googleplier for sure, but comment below if you have other characters (From Markiplier TV or otherwise) you'd like to see included, or follow me on tumblr @ironwoman359 and send me an ask!


End file.
